The Devil & Lillian Holmes (22 page)

“George. He wants your wellbeing.”

“I wasn’t serious! Oh, Lil, I wasn’t serious! Damnation! This is unbearable. Is there no way to rescue him?”

Kitty linked her arm through Phillip’s, and the two whispered to one another. Lillian knew Kitty wanted assurances that he would do nothing to save his brother, that they would have a chance at peace. She also knew as well as Kitty that no such assurances would come.

“Mr. Doyle,” she said, “I beg you again. Would you take the Musketeers with you, north, wherever your next stop takes you? I will try to convince Bess and Kitty to accompany you, to help. They are good children who have had nothing but heartache. They are not safe here. I have adequate funds to hire additional help if you think it necessary.”

“Musketeers?”

“My Irregulars. The boys. Two are brothers of Aileen O’Shaunessy, one is Johnnie Moran’s brother.”

“Isn’t that a role better taken by Johnnie? I cannot simply abscond with his little brothers!” Doyle’s eyes reflected open fear now. He would flee, and she wouldn’t blame him. If only he would take the children.

Bess stomped her foot. “I’m not going anywhere! I will take the boys to my house. You don’t get to orchestrate everyone’s lives, Lillian, whether you feel it is for their own good or not.”

Lillian was ready to explode from the grief pulling at her heart, the clock ticking away precious moments she didn’t have, and a house full of people who needed her care but did not want it or know it. “I don’t get to orchestrate my own!”

Kitty placed a kiss on Phillip’s cheek and stood near Bess. “I will go with you to your house, if you’ll have me. We can take care of the children together. I, too, am not leaving.”

“No!” Lillian said. “You must listen to me. There are matters beyond your comprehension, Kitty!”

“And I will take my leave now.” Mr. Doyle approached and pressed a kiss to Lillian’s hand. “I pray we cross paths again, Miss Holmes.”

It sounded very much like he prayed for the exact opposite, and without giving her time to utter a word of protest he donned his hat and rushed to the hallway. The sound of the door slamming behind him felt like her fate was sealed.

Bess followed his departure with a look of deep regret, but Lillian had no time to comfort her about her cure. Her friend straightened herself up and linked arms with Kitty.

Lillian looked to Phillip, who was staring at her. The two held one another’s gaze.

“Ah.” Bess came over and gave her a quick hug, whispering in her ear, “Get your wonderful George and your child and bring them back.”

Kitty wiped away a few tears before going with Bess to collect the boys from the yard, leaving Lil alone except for Phillip.

She shuddered. Everyone would be gone, but they would not be safe. No one had listened to her, no one wanted her direction. Lillian bristled that she was left with the man George told her to listen to, bristled that once again she was being ordered around. She choked back tears and reached into her pocket for her pill box.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t take anything.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! You are not my maker! You are not…anything to me.”

Phillip strode across the room and pulled her in tight, pressed a tender kiss on her hair. She hated him for not being George, hated him for being part of the reason George sacrificed himself.

“Has he made amends enough for you, Phillip?” she hissed.

“Oh, Lillian, I’m so sorry.”

She grimaced.
It’s simply not his fault. It’s no one’s fault. No one’s except George.
And yet, “Phillip, did I bring ruin on him, or did he bring it on me?”

“Stop it! George has done this for us both, and for himself. If we were sensible we’d honor his wish and go far away, save ourselves.”

Lillian nodded. “Yes. He could be already dead.”
Dead.
The word sounded so hollow.

“No. Our maker is not gone. I would feel it.”

Our maker.
“We are as brother and sister in a way. Phillip…?”

She’d called his name, but now Lillian pressed her hand to her mouth, unsure of what she wanted to ask. Phillip took her hand and led her to a settee. He stared at her earnestly, waiting to help. George had described him accurately many times: noble and generous. That gave her strength to continue.

“Does he love me? Or does he feel responsible for me?”

She could tell Phillip held back a chuckle, which was almost answer enough. Almost.

“That is not really the question, is it?”

“I rather think it is!” Lillian huffed.

“Lil, I was his first newborn. I can still remember the awful struggle defying rational thought or description. I hated him. I loved him. I couldn’t stand to be with him, I couldn’t stand to be without him.” Phillip shook his head. “I’ve hidden from him, put continents between us, put him in harm’s way, killed to free him from harm. Multiply these last few months by a hundred. And still, I cannot answer the real question for you.”

“Which is?”

“Is it love that you feel, or is it that he holds your bond?”

“Which is it for you? Why does he still hold your bond after all this time? You have become friends. I see it. Have you asked him to free you?”

“That is between us,” Phillip said in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. “But if you want to be able to answer these questions for yourself, we’ll likely have to rescue the idiot.”

“He is an idiot, isn’t he?” Lillian wiped a tear away and cursed. “What a stupid thing to do. I am far more intelligent than he, I believe, and could have assisted greatly in this mission. And, after all,
it is my son at risk.
How dare he! What was he thinking, Phillip?”

Lillian shot to her feet and paced to wear down some of her nervous energy, and Phillip said, “God only knows, my dear. But this is the deadliest of his stunts.”

“So…you think him still alive?”

“Indeed I do. And I suggest that we cannot adequately chastise him for his stupidity until we rescue him.”

“He said that I was attend to your instructions.”

George’s brother scoffed, and Lillian looked into his blue eyes and saw a love like her own buried under anxiety and great pain. And mild amusement. “That is quite ridiculous. Are you likely to take my instruction? No. Nor should you. As you said, you are far more intelligent than George. So, what would you like to do?”

“I won’t run away.”

“I suspect George knew that. He also knew I wouldn’t run. He is so much greater a man than he believes himself, than even you believe him to be. He doesn’t want to die, hasn’t since he met you.”

Lillian shook her head, confused.

“After a few hundred years you will understand him better. George wants to do what is right, but his notion of heroics seems somewhat stuck in the days of our upbringing. I think we’d better show him how it’s done.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why, there is something between surrender and running.”

“Fighting back?”

“Yes. I want my brother, and so do you.”

“Yes. And I want my son. But we are fewer now, weaker. How can we succeed if George will not? And I’m sure Kitty does not want you to go.”

“Please do not assume my love for her is meager, or that she values peace over justice. She does not want me to
die.
But how could she love a man who would abandon his brother? Even if he is an idiot.”

They turned as they noticed Phoebe framed in the hallway arch, anger pouring from her. “You brought him to this pit of Hell and yet don’t mention his name. You both deserve to die at Madam Lucifer’s hand, along with your child and George!”

Phillip approached the woman, but she held up her hand and grimaced. “Don’t give me your excuses! You may have convinced Chauncey that he could redeem his soul by killing the
diab
, but I am not so gullible. I pleaded with him to quit this place, and to go away with me.” She made a quick spitting noise and crossed herself.

“We haven’t forgotten him!” But Phillip’s lie didn’t roll off his tongue convincingly, and the woman moved closer and beat on his chest. He trapped her hands as she screamed at him.

“You stole my love! What did you say to him in the cathedral? What did you promise him? Lies, all lies! You brought him here as sacrifice to the demon woman. Your George took him today and now he’s gone off to his death.” Phoebe fell to her knees and pounded her fists on her legs, sobbing and shaking. “You are the
diab!”

“We will get him back,” Lillian said, wondering if they could, ashamed that what Phoebe said was true. She’d forgotten Sullivan ever existed.

Phillip shook the woman and yelled back. “Stop it, Phoebe. This won’t help him! Of course we’ll try to save Sullivan.”

“Selfish bastards!”

Phillip traded looks with Lillian. “It’s just us.”

Lillian nodded. “Do we have a plan at all?”

“Stupid bastards!” Phoebe hissed. “You never had a plan to kill her. Chauncey said you had a plan, promised you had a plan! Oh, God, he will die. But, no. Dear Mother Mary, have mercy on us. I will get my husband back from her. You can rot with her in Hell for all I care. I am going to find my husband—”

Phillip tried to hold her but she pushed him away violently. “Phoebe, you are not strong, not old. Marie could kill you with a flick of her wrist. You must stay here.”

The woman pointed to Lillian. “This devil is a newborn. What use is she? I go to save my husband; she goes to save her lover and child. Women do what women must do. Who are you, monsieur, to deny me?”

“I take it you’re coming with us, then?”

Phoebe’s eyes burned black, and veins stood out scarlet against her dark skin. “I must get my bones and chalk, my cauldron. Then we go.”

The woman flew up the stairs, and Lillian called after her, “We don’t have time for this!” Then, to Phillip: “Her bones and cauldron?”

George’s brother whispered, “She is an ally, but she could prove…unstable. I suggest we leave without her. Besides, all Sullivan seemed to want is her safety, according to George’s letter. We can at least do this much for him. Let’s go now.”

“Right,” Lillian said.

Phillip sighed. “Lead the way to the castle.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Brave mortals.

“God help me!”

Arthur ran as quickly as he could, his breathing labored from his chest cold, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the insanity of Lillian Holmes’s mansion. He stopped at the monument, where George Washington—at least he supposed it was George Washington—stood atop an enormous column. There was such a monument in every city in America, it seemed.

Taking a seat on an iron bench, he wiped at his brow and tried to calm his breathing. A few couples were out for a stroll, although the night was brisk and a young shoeblack sat forlornly on a step without a customer. How could life go on so normally? Would his life ever be normal again?

Arthur pulled his watch from his pocket and opened it to the inscription that brought bittersweet grief, unfailingly.
All my devotion, Louisa.
Louisa didn’t even know he was abroad, but neither would she know his face. Tuberculosis ravaged her body while dementia ravaged her brain. Oh, for once to have her tell him that he was a good and noble man worthy of the blessings life had given him. But no, that was impossible—and untrue.

“You have not the bravery of the lowliest soldier, the inquisitiveness of the poorest scientist, or the imagination to pen a single new story,” he accused himself. Faced with the seemingly impossible truth that he’d met and even liked several vampires, he’d run.

“Well, who wouldn’t?” he almost shouted. The shoeblack turned and held up his brush.

Arthur ignored him and rested his head in his hands. Lillian had begged him to help. The astonishment and hurt on her face when he curtly abandoned her… Well, those were sentiments he understood too well. Louisa had looked at him that way before, as had his children. He would tend battlefield wounds but would not fight a battle.

A few seagulls circled overhead, and Arthur watched them settle on George Washington. He sniffed out a laugh. What would
that
great man do, faced with a nest of vampires? What would Sherlock do? Why, John Watson would understand, wouldn’t he?

No. Terrible men had done something to pry a child away from Lillian Holmes. He believed that. A good man would try to help. Dr. John Watson was a good man, whereas his creator was not. But was there
any
way to assist without ending up dead in the process? He didn’t truly owe anything to Lillian Holmes, and yet, he felt that he’d inadvertently had some hand in a part of her misery. Where the blazes was Johnnie Moran, and what did he know of all this?

A trolley clanged somewhere. A cab for hire turned the corner and Arthur ran to catch up. He called out, and the driver finally stopped.

“It’s Mr. Doyle again, ain’t that right, sir?” It was the driver who had ushered him back and forth to the police station, and the man grinned and tipped his hat.

“Aye,” Arthur said. “I wonder if you know a certain officer of the law that frequents Light Street? He’s of average height and thin build, fair-haired.”

“That’s every other copper in the city, sir.”

“Irish.”

The man rolled his eyes.

“His name is John Moran, very serious fellow.”

“You’d mean poor Johnnie, one who just lost his girl?”

“That is the very man! Where can I find him this time of evening?”

“Hard to say, sir. If he’s on duty, he’d be far down toward the harbor. Used to spend his time up the street with his lady. Now?” The driver shrugged. “Don’t know where he lives.”

“Then we’ll try the harbor!” Arthur decided. “As fast as you can go, and a bit faster if you please. If we don’t find him right away, we’ll be coming all the way back and past here to Congressman Coyle’s mansion. It’s near the lake.”
God help me,
he thought, though.
Don’t let it come to that. I cannot do this alone.

“Know where it is, sir!”

The driver seemed legitimately happy that he might have a fare for the entire evening, while Doyle sat back in the coach, trying to take in everything he’d seen and heard in the last few days. If only Mencken were around; perhaps he’d learned something about the murders as well. Right now there were signs that Arthur’s associates in the Learned Order were up to very foul crimes, indeed. Could he have a hand in bringing them to justice? Could he, for once, be an actor in his own story?